


247 - Helping Van Answer Qs

by storiesaboutvan



Category: Catfish and the Bottlemen (Band)
Genre: F/M, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-08 17:02:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17390231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesaboutvan/pseuds/storiesaboutvan
Summary: Van has to email through some answers for a little magazine write-up. Of course, he gets you to do it. Based on a real article but I can't find it anymore!





	247 - Helping Van Answer Qs

"Babe! Where are ya! I need help filling this thing out!"

Van found you reading on the bed, bundled up, cosy, not to be disturbed. He stood there though, politely waiting for you to look up from the pages and give him the attention he wanted.

"What thing?" you asked, keeping your eyes low.

"NME got me doing the 'soundtrack of my life' bit, don't they? It's gotta be good, 'cause you know they hate us."

That made you look up at him. He was dead serious. In his hands was his laptop, scratched and worn but held like it was the most precious thing in the world at that very moment.

"Van, NME don't hate you,"

"Y/N, you get me started on this and you won't hear the end ‘till dinner time. Just help me, will ya? Got to type it all out and you'll make me sound smart and charming. Gotta woo the readers."

Van climbed onto the bed and pushed your blanket away. With a huff and glare, you put your novel on the bedside table and took the laptop from him. Side by side, you read the open document.

"Alright. First one is the first song you remember hearing,"

"Everyone knows it's Catfish in Sydney," Van replied with a frown. How many times had he told that story? How many more times would it be told? 

"Yeah, but I don't think he has like… songs, you know? We can stretch the truth a little,"

"Um… 'kay… Well, Dad used to put these big, massive headphones on me when I had a bath when I was a baby. Used to play music while he covered me in soap, you know?" Van said. You watched him look off into space with a warm expression. God, he loved his dad.

"What song though?"

"Those fuckin' headphones were bigger than my little baby head," Van continued, lost in the memory.

"Mary says you had a big head," you quipped.

"Mary says a lot of things. Anything to make you laugh at me. You two are trouble… It was a washing-up bowl. Like, a big tub thing. And I'd sit there and listen to… Beautiful Boy! Aw, how'd I forget that? Beautiful Boy by Lennon. Yeah. He'd have it on repeat while I had me bath,"

"That's fucking adorable. Alright. Got it."

Was there a photo of Van in the 'washing-up bowl' with Bernie's giant headphones? You would pay good money for a copy. 

Van watched you string together the fragmented pieces of information until there were a couple of sentences that sounded like Van had written them himself.

"See, knew you'd be good at this," he said when you put the last full stop in place. "What's next?"

"First song you fell in love with. Gotta be Van Morrison?"

"Yeah. The live Wavelength from the DVD me and dad watch. 'Cause, he comes out on stage, right, and he's got a smoke in one hand, and with the other he drops it and the whole band just stops, like, on his cue. And he comes out to this massive crescendo of noise. Monster, right?"

"You explain it to me like I haven't sat through drunk you and drunk Bernie crying 'bout it a hundred times," you replied with a smirk.

Van laughed. "Just giving ya material for the answers. That enough?"

"Yeah. Everyone knows the MccCann Van Morrison Christmas Tradition. Next one is first album you ever bought," you read from the screen, then looked over at Van. He had a smirk on his face and you could tell he'd done something he was proud of.

"First album I owned, or whatever, like, first full album, was A Grand Don't Come For Free by The Streets," he said.

"Predictable,"

"But I stole it, so does that count?"

"God, of course you did, Van. But yeah, that's a good story. Who'd you steal it from?"

"My cousin. Don't know if I meant to steal it, but I stole it from him and just never took it back. Man, that's my all time favourite album. That's the reason I get up and write songs, you know? The songs are so normal; Mike Skinner is so normal and down to earth. The songs are about, you know, sitting here smoking a joint with his girlfriend, watching the telly. Not about driving off in Cadillacs. That's how real life is. I love that."

As Van spoke, you typed fast. It was easy for him to talk about music, but it was the absolute easiest thing to talk about Mike Skinner. The boy was in love, straight up.

"That's a good lead in. The Streets make you write lyrics every day. What song made you want to be in a band?"

"Lyla. That's maybe what we'll name our little girl, yeah?" Van said, so nonchalant and casual. He looked over at your blank face and smiled. "Lyla's a massive song. The lyric 'she's the queen of all I've seen' is one of the best one-liners. I like big, powerful one-liners. The chorus as well is good. It's the type of one that makes the crowd get on shoulders, you know? Like, get on me shoulders, it's time, tops off, everything,"

"Mmm, I agree with that. 'She's the queen of all I've seen' is really, really fucking beautiful. Simple too. Okay. Song you can't ever listen to again? Oh my god. Christmas Wrapping?!"

Van snorted and claped once. "Christmas Wrapping. Fucking Larry. S'not like I could listen to it before, but. This is why we shouldn't live with him. So write, over Christmas Larry-"

"Do you want to call him your best mate or guitar tech?" you interrupted to ask.

"Best mate! So, my best mate Larry played it so many times that I just fuckin' hate it. And say that I love Christmas, so it's not that it's a Christmas song,"

"Alright. I love that answer actually. Don't most people that do this write pop songs or whatever? Or like, a classic song, just to be edgy?" you asked as you quickly re-read that last answer to make sure it flowed well enough.

"Yeah. I don't know. Nothing wrong with liking pop, I reckon," Van replied.

"Mmm-hmmm. Okay, next one is… oh God… song that makes you want to dance,"

"Someday," Van said immediately. There was no hesitation and you knew he really did rate his dancing skills. Like, really. You looked at him, again blank faced. He knew you disagreed. He knew you thought he looked like spaghetti being electrocuted on the dancefloor. Lucky he knew that you loved him too. "Whatever, babe. Someday is my jam. It's just the right tempo, you know, whenever it comes on in a club,"

"In a club," you said under your breath with a snort. Van ignored you, opting to believe he was the type of person that went to A Club.

"Every shape I throw is spot on for that song's tempo. Every beat I catch with the right kind of movement. I love that song,"

"I don't even need to paraphrase that. It's glorious. Okay. Over halfway now… Karaoke song. You’re Gorgeous?"

"Yep. Nobody remembers that song, do they? One of my favourites. If you can write a song like that, it means you can live in London for the rest of your life. Making it rain, you know? So the goal is write a You're Gorgeous, and buy your mum a jacuzzi," Van answered.

"I think you're probably the only person that really loves that song. Like, it's not even just your karaoke song. You sing it all the time,"

"Yeah, 'cause it's class. What's next?"

"Song that you can't get out of your head?" you read to Van.

He thought for only a second, nodded to himself once, then spoke. "I like that new Wombats song. There's a good line in it which says 'comes up and bangs the sense out of me' and I thought that was quite cool because it was kind of sexual and saying, 'she slaps me out of it if I'm in a band way,' you know? Like you do with me,"

"Van, do you really want me to write 'it was kind of sexual' in an NME article?"

"What's wrong with that? Ain't nothing wrong with sex. Means you love them," he replied with a frown. Bless. Bless him and his awkward wording and beautiful intent. Who were you to edit that part of him?

"Okay. Three to go, babe. Song you wish you had written?"

"Oh! What's the name of that Glasvegas song you love? The one seven-minute one on the second record? It's just him reeling of lines and lines, it's like a poem. Remember how when we played with them we saw he had to have the lyrics in front of him, 'cause it's just line, line, line, with 'lots sometimes' at the end. Fuck, that's what it's called,"

"Mmmm, good choice," you agreed, nodding and transcribing.

"And I wish I'd wrote Lyla, 'cause then my mum would have a jacuzzi, d'you know what I mean?"

You laughed and quickly added that to the end of the paragraph.

Van shuffled around in the bed while you typed. You could tell he was having fun. He liked talking about music and he liked talking about it with you. For all his life, Van had spoken and people had listened, but he said you made him feel heard, understood. Having you to translate his thoughts into answers made him feel confident and sure.

"Gonna have to lie a bit on the next one. The song you wouldn't normally admit to liking, but you aren't really like that," you said.

"Yeah. They want something pop, right?" he asked you.

You nodded. "Robbie Williams? You're always on about how good his lyrics are,"

"So smart, babe. See? This is why I needed you. Yeah. Write 'bout You Know Me and how in the video he falls to his knees and he's like, 'baby I'm drinking.' I like that song,"

"Reminds you of Bernie? He does the dramatic fall to his knees when he's had a few," you said.

"Yes! Yes, babe. Exactly. In the video he's dressed up like a rabbit and he starts doing some cartwheels and that upsets me a bit, but other than that…"

You considered changing the word 'upset' to something Van probably actually meant. He probably meant he was unsettled by the rabbit or maybe confused at the random weirdness. Instead, you kept 'upset' because somehow the sentence was very Van and very telling.

"Lucky last. Oh. Sad. The song you want at your funeral,"

"One of ours," Van said instantly with a self-assured nod.

"Why?"

"Well, if they played it, then our little lad and his older sister… or younger sister or whatever…" There was a pause where Van tried to pretend he didn't map out his future in so much detail. That he didn't think about a little lad and a big sister… Van didn't want to freak you out, but you were used to it. "…they could take the royalties and put a nice spread on for everybody. There you go, little buffet for my family and that."

You finished typing then look at him carefully.

"Van, have you ever been to a funeral?"

"Couple, why?"

"You do know that if you a play a song at a funeral, the band doesn't get royalties?"

He looked at you, his face stuck in an expression that was sceptical disbelief. You could almost see the cogs of his mind turning behind his bright blue eyes, working, figuring shit out.

"That… makes… sense…" he responded slowly.

"Yeah… But I think the answer is cute and very you and if your aim is to get people to like you, then we should keep it," 

"People will think I'm daft!" Van protested in a squeaky voice.

"Nah. Maybe. I don't know. Maybe they'll just think it's good you don't know how things like that work. You know? Lucky you?"

Van looked at you, still sceptical, but he trusted your judgement more than his own.

"Okay. So, it's done?" he asked, looking back to the laptop. You handed it over with a nod. "Thank you, love. I'll go make you a cup of tea, yeah? Then leave you be so you can read. D'you want anything else?"

"Jaffa cakes?"

While you repositioned yourself in the bed and found your place in your novel, you could hear Van and Larry in the kitchen. Van had obviously given your combined work to him to read, because he was laughing hard.

"Christmas Wrapping is a tune, mate!" was said loudly and with such surety that Larry almost sounded religious in his belief.

Van returned to you with tea and cakes and a kiss on the head a few minutes later.

"Larry like it?" you asked.

"All but the-"

"Christmas Wrapping. I heard."

He chuckled, then leaned down to hold your face in his hands and kiss you.

"Again, thanks for the help," he said as he rubbed his nose against yours in a little Eskimo kiss.

"You're welcome," you replied in a whisper.

Van left you to your cosy day, which was soundtracked by music coming from the lounge. Lennon, Morrison, Skinner, Gallagher, Casablancas, Jones, Murphy, Allan, and Williams.


End file.
